The mess was much larger than Pigarin had initially envisioned, though really, with the numbers within the Tower growing almost daily it was very much required. Even now, the building itself was overcrowded and loud, filled with boisterous noises and physical contact. Light! This was not something Pigarin had ever experienced, and quite frankly nothing he had ever desired. As he followed slowly behind Dyson, laughter rang out in his ears, and his brain began to throb. The day had been hard enough, and for all of that, sitting in this room was not forthcoming on his list of things to do. But within a few moments they had reached the end of the room, and Pigarin assumed that behind the doors at this end were the food stores. The men were soon forgotten in the wake of a grumbling stomach.

“Here is where the food is kept,” explain Dyson, validating Pigarin’s thought. “I don’t really think we’ll have much compared to what you’re used to,” he continued, carefully eyeing Pigarin’s physical form. There was no doubt that as a noble one enjoyed a vast variety of good foods, and Pigarin had done that more than most, which likely attributed to his comfortable size.

Dyson pulled back the door, letting his new friend peek inside. Of course, Dyson had been quite correct, for there in front of him were shelves of food, yes, but all were very plain. He observed variety of vegetables, some he recognized like potatoes and others he didn’t, but that really wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. What am I supposed to do with these? Obviously, one skill he had never even thought about over the years was cooking. If he’d so much as taken an interest in it, every other noble would, for the first part, be scandalized for no one did their own cooking, and furthermore, they would assume it a plot for the Great Game. Every Light blasted thing was part of it.

“Here you will find all the food that you will need to survive. But don’t take too much, take more than your fare share and people will start to notice. I can tell you know, attention within the Black Tower is rarely a good thing,” Dyson stated, giving a stern look that imposed the importance of his point. Pigarin’s stomach chose that moment to rumble, having been starved of food all day, but the prospects in front of him were really not that appealing. He was sure anything he could prepare would be inedible, and just a waste of these, as Dyson had indicated, clearly valuable resources.

“I…ah…I can’t cook,” mumbled Pigarin, trying hard not to sound completely incompetent. It seemed he would be spending a lot of time worrying about the things he couldn’t do.

“I had assumed as much, but that isn’t really much of a problem, there are many who come here will little knowledge of cooking. Fortunately for you lot, the food in an army is not particularly complicated, though the Tower does have a number of expectations, as you’ve been told. You will only eat a hot meal if you can make it yourself with the Power, which, obviously, tonight you cannot. However, I have yet to eat myself, so I will show you what you can do with the ingredients here,” Dyson iterated. Walking into the store room, the dark haired man collected bits and pieces from many shelves, seemingly trying to grab something of everything. When he returned, his arms were full of mainly vegetables, though Pigarin was also able to spot some cheese.

“Pigarin, if you head over there, you will find some utensils, plates and forks, go and bring them over here,” he directed, gesturing to the door on the opposing wall. Pigarin nodded, heading over the store room to collect what was required. He was surprised by the abundance of necessities present; at a glance there had to be hundreds of plates and many more of the forks, knifes and spoons. He had never seen so many in one place before, not even within the High Houses in Cairhien. Sighing quietly, he collected two plates and two forks, as requested, and returned to find Dyson setting up at the end of a long table. In Pigarin’s short absence, Dyson had also retrieved a slab of raw meat.

“Good, now, I’m going to apologize now, because you won’t be able to eat any of the things that I cook here. It’s the rules of the Tower, and if we get caught, both of us will be serving punishments for days, and I’m really in no such mood. Tonight you get to watch,” Dyson said slowly and softly, demonstrating that he was, in fact, sorry. Not that it would have made much difference, Pigarin had never been one to argue, and he had a funny feeling from the past hour or so that Dyson was not exactly one to be trifled with. His commanding tone seemed to tell Pigarin that messing with him would be dangerous. And who needs more of that?

“Now, I suggest you watch, I can’t teach you the weaves yet, but you can see what happens to the food.” And with that, he began to concentrate upon the potato he had selected, and within a few moments it started to hover slightly. Pigarin’s eyes widened in shock, he had never really seen the Power used before, expect when stepping through the portal to get to the Tower. Of course, he knew what could be done; he knew what was possible, he knew a lot of things, but it was something entirely different to actually see it. The potato then began to peel itself rapidly, and once white, it started to steam. Dyson finished of his demonstrations by crushing the potato and adding it to a plate. “It is fairly simple once you get the hang of it, and there you have mashed potato.” Dyson whipped out one of his brilliant smiles as he observed the amazement of Pigarin’s face.

That evening Pigarin observed the preparations of meat and peas and even turnips. The cooks had always made it seem so difficult back home, but with saidin it became as simple as willing it and it was so. But alas, he also had to watch as Dyson feasted upon his creation, while he was left with only lettuce, some carrot, and a little bit of cheese. For him, it was entirely unsatisfying, and his stomach groaned in protest. Sighing, he fought the hunger pains, and swallowed the last bit of carrot.

He hoped that he might find something that he didn’t have to get used to.

Pigarin positioned himself in the centre of what was to be his new home. The room was extremely tiny; barely suited for a servant. In fact, he doubted even those were as small as this room. He could... more

Rubbing his stomach irritably, Pigarin waited out of the mess hall for Dyson. His stomach, while no longer growling, still felt emptier than it should be, and it was anything but a pleasant feeling.... more

Pigarin bit in his lip, his eyes frowned with concern, as he paced slowly but surely towards the barracks. His first day had been, well, interesting at the very least. Indeed, the Black Tower was... more